


Drowning in the Desert

by vangogh_hoe



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: (but it's actually romantic), Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Boris is a sweetheart, Canon Divergence, Donna Tartt is a goddess and deserves the world, Drug Use, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Touching, I'm Bad At Summaries, Las Vegas Era, M/M, New York, Platonic Relationships, Sharing a Bed, Theo isn't homophobic, Touching, Underage Drinking, book/movie paraphrasing, implied Hobie and Welty, implied Theo and Kitsey, just a confused kid, they're all they have and im Emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22903954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vangogh_hoe/pseuds/vangogh_hoe
Summary: Told in third-person to avoid Theo's unreliable narration, we can finally see what kind of relationship Theo and Boris actually had.The only major difference in this is that its Boris who has to leave Las Vegas first, leaving Theo behind. Also, there's no painting, and there's an alternate ending for the two of them.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 79





	Drowning in the Desert

Marooned in the vast Nevada desert, no mother, practically no father, no neighbors, no childhood friends, or familiar doormen, it was easy for the dreadful loneliness to set in deep inside his chest until it became hard to breathe.

But then there was Boris. A breath of fresh air in the endless expanse of dry heat.

With Boris, it was easy to forget the barren wasteland surrounding them, and instead focus on the casual, lingering touches; the laughter; the light-hearted fistfights; the booze and drugs.

A calm washed over Theo whenever they were together.

When they sat across from each other at the kitchen table, legs brushing eyes locked, eating straight off the frying pan, Boris's thick Slavic accent rich in Theo's ears as they bickered about nothing.

When they went to Boris's house to watch S.O.S Iceberg (the only movie he owned) for the hundredth time, Boris's head laying on Theo's lap as they downed another beer.

When they lay in a drunken stupor at the abandoned playground, a hair's breadth away from each other, staring up at the night sky, not a word spoken between them and not a word needed.

When they sit on Theo's living room floor, arms stretched out behind them, holding them upright, their fingers brushing together as holiday re-runs mix with the sound of Popchyk's snoring.

When they move upstairs to Theo's room, locking the door behind them as Boris produces two separate dime bags from his pocket.

"Happy Christmas, Potter."

"What is that?"

"Do not worry about that. Here," he said tapping a small amount of the first bag onto the back of his hand and holding it out to the other boy.

"What's it going to do?"

"Just trust me, yes?"

Theo tentatively leaned forward and snorted the dust off Boris's hand.

"Okay, now the other side," Boris said, tapping out some of the contents from the second baggie. He held his hand out to Theo again, who snorted it through his other nostril. Boris repeated the process from himself. They both collapsed onto Theo's small bed.

"Shit," Theo breathed.

"Right?"

"What was that stuff?"

"I thought I told you to not worry about it. Not a very good listener, Potter," Boris laughed, tapping Theo on his ear. Theo reached up to slap Boris's hand away but found he couldn't (or maybe just didn't want to) break contact with the other. They sat in silence for a long while, resting against the headboard, as they let their hands move along each other like they were trying to catalog each digit, each fingerprint, the roughness of Boris's knuckles and the softness of Theo's, creases of their palms, and the dip of their wrists. Theo thinks this may be the most relaxed he's ever been, even counting the times when his mother was still alive. He thinks about what she would say if she saw him now. Would she be mad? Ashamed? Or would she understand that the drugs and the alcohol are the only lifelines he has out here? That what he and Boris do— all the touches and drunken nights they never speak about the next day— isn't about lust or love, but rather just about human contact? That it's about getting comfort from another person— something neither of them gets from anyone else.

He is pulled from his thoughts by a wild head of hair falling onto his shoulder, and he's dimly aware that their hands are still together, but the movement has slowed almost completely. Almost.

"Boris?" Theo asks, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

"Hm?"

"What does the moon look like in Russia?"

"Same as here." Boris's voice came out slow and tired. "Is same everywhere."

"...Do you miss it? Russia?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I am here."

"What's so much better about here?"

"You are here. Not Russia." Boris said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but if Theo hadn't been so doped up at the moment, he would've reacted differently, hearing what sounded almost like a declaration of some sort. Or maybe he was just reading into things.

"Oh." As lame as it sounded, even to his own ears, it was the only thing he could manage. Silence fell back over them. When Theo finally stole a look at the other boy, he found him sound asleep, head still resting on Theo's shoulder. Without much thought, Theo tilted his head down, cheek laying atop Boris's raven-black hair and shut his eyes, falling into a dreamless sleep.

———

Theo awoke to bright desert sun glaring through the slats in his blinds. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Even with the crick in his neck and the slight ache in his shoulders, he feels amazingly well-rested. He sits up and looks over to the spot next to him, only to find it empty, and his heart sinks straight to the floor. Did he leave? How long ago? Did he even stay the night? Was he coming back? Thoughts ran through his head faster than he could stop them, and he began to fell the tell-tale signs of panic rise in his chest. He tried his hardest to push it down, to tell himself that he's being childish. He made his way downstairs, telling himself that there's no reason to be feeling this way. Boris wasn't gone forever. He'd come back. He probably just needed to go home.

_Why do you even care so much, huh? You've woken up dozens of times with Boris suddenly not there. You should be used to it by now._

But he wasn't. Then this happened, he would get flashbacks to the day he went back to his apartment and waited for his mom to come home. He remembers waking up from a night of restless sleep on the couch, going into his mom's room only to find it empty— the bed still made up from the previous morning. He remembers the feeling of his knees giving out beneath him, the blood rushing from his face, the feeling of the room spinning around him, and his stomach lurching, and his hands going tingly and cold as the realization hit him— she hadn't come home yet, and she was never going to. 

"Иисус! You look white like ghost, Potter! Here, come sit. Eat," Boris said, sliding him a plate of warm scrambled eggs.

"I— I thought you left..." Theo said, willing his voice to be steady. 

"Bah! Not without breakfast first!" 

Boris's lightheartedness immediately calmed Theo. 

"See! Just needed some protein. Already looking better," he said, voice dripping with pride as he gave a boyish grin. 

"Right," Theo said without much emotion attached to it, but he could feel the corner of his mouth quirk up a little. 

Although conversation flowed freely between them, the previous night, like always, did not come up. 

———

"What do you mean you're leaving?"

"My father was relocated. I have to go to South Africa..." 

"South Africa?" Theo's voice was far away. 

"I'm sorry, Potter. I wish I could stay here. With you." 

"You can, though! You don't have to go. We could run away like we talked about..." 

"Things are different now..." 

"Different how?"

"They just are. You have to trust me, Potter. I have to do this." 

Neither of them said anything for a long while. Boris stared at the ground, desperate to not have to look Theo in his pained eyes. 

"Will you come back?" Both of them could hear how close he was to tears. 

"Of course," but they both knew it was a lie. 

It was then that Boris finally looked at Theo. Without thought, he surged forward, crashing their lips together. Even during all their nights of fooling around, of drinking and dropping acid, of comforting each other and confessing a little too much then they probably should have in the fog of it all, they had never kissed before. It shouldn't have been such a big deal, but it had always been an unspoken boundary that neither of them was quite ready to cross, as if doing so would make it all too real. But here they were. And it should have felt amazing, but it only managed to make the pain worse. 

Boris held Theos face in his hands, desperate to keep the boy close, as Theo dug his fingers into Boris's long sleeves like he was lost at sea and Boris was the only thing keeping him afloat. Everything that was unsaid between them was now being poured into this fleeting moment. 

They reluctantly pulled apart, but their hands stayed firm. Boris rested his forehead against Theo's and forced himself to open his eyes. Theo's eyes were red and welling with tears, but they refused to fall down his face. Boris leaned in one more time, stealing one last kiss, and then pulled the smaller boy into a tight hug. 

"Goodbye, Theo," he whispered into his hair. Before Theo could react, Boris was gone. 

——— 

A few days later, while Theo was still trying to adjust to Boris' absence, he came home to a house full of Xandra's friends. 

"What's going on?" 

"There's been an accident," Xandra said, stepping towards Theo, her voice rough and ragged. "Your father had a blood alcohol of 0.8. He was driving west. Into the desert. Like he was leaving me..." She began crying again. 

"Right... So when's he coming back?"

"You don't get it. He's dead. Your father's dead!" She sank onto the couch in tears, her friends quick to her side. 

Theo didn't move, sock still setting in. But it wore off quickly when he realized the situation he was in. Xandra didn't want him around— she made that very clear during the two years they lived together. He had no friends, no family out here. They are going to put him in a home and he'd be fucked. 

He was fast to act from there. He packed what he could in a large duffle and looted Xandra's room for cash, not ignoring the bag of pills he had come across either. He pocketed the money and drugs and slipped out of the house unnoticed with Popchyk under his arm. 

Within the week, they were back on the streets of New York City. And even though all of the chaos and change and adrenaline, he couldn't stop thinking about Boris. 

———

"Where are you taking her?" 

"One If By Land," Theo said as he straightened his tie for the millionth time in the mirror and buttoned his suit jacket. 

"Ah, a popular venue of such an occasion," Hobie said, voice mellow and soft. Tonight was the night Theo was going to propose to Kitsey. "I hear their braised lamb is delicious. Although I must say I've never been one for lamb, myself. 

"How do I look?" Theo asked, turning around to face Hobie. 

" _Very_ handsome. She's a lucky girl, indeed." 

Theo's hands were shaking and unbearably sweaty, but having Hobie there was helping to calm his nerves. 

"You better get going," Hobie said, checking the watch Welty had given to him years ago. "You wouldn't want to miss your reservation." 

"Right." Theo adjusted his tie one more time before going downstairs. He threw on his coat and scarf and took one last, deep breath before opening the door. 

When he opened the door, though, the was met with an unfamiliar man standing there, fist raised as if he was just about to knock on the door. The man's hand immediately fell to his side as soon as he saw Theo, and his expression lightened. Theo's brow knit in obvious confusion. 

"Potter..." the man breathed. 

Theo's expression dropped in tandem with his stomach. Meanwhile, his heart had jumped up into this throat, choking him. 

"Boris?" It couldn't be... could it?

"The one and onl—" the air was knocked out of him from Theo throwing all of his body weight onto him, as he wrapped him in a lung-crushing hug— one that Boris was quick to accept with equal force. 

"You came back..." Theo murmured into Boris's shoulder. 

Boris curled his hand around the back of Theo's head, grabbing the hair there, keeping him close, just like all those years ago. 

"I promised I would, no?" 

Theo leaned back just enough to capture Boris's lips in his own, eight years of longing being unleashed. They pulled away, leaning their foreheads against each other. Neither of them opened their eyes, both afraid that if they did, the other would not be there. 

In this darkness, Theo found enough courage to confess, "I missed you. So much. Everyday. I tried not to, but I couldn't stop..." He felt a tear burn down his cheek.  Boris, who had opened his eyes as soon as Theo began speaking, was quick to wipe it away. 

"Is okay," he whispered, breath ghosting over Theo's lips. "Am here now, yes?" 

"To stay?" Theo's voice was guarded.

"Of course." And this time they both knew it was the truth. 

Needless to say, Theo didn't make his reservations. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Drop a Kudos and don't be afraid to Comment!


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